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Title: Terra Firma Chapter 7: Prodigal Daughters.
Author: Tulipp. Email:
tulipp30@yahoo.comFeedback: Please. Distribution: Please let me know.
Spoilers: Everything.
Rating: PG-13 in this part.
Pairing: W/T.
Summary: Willow tells Tara what happened after she died.
Disclaimer: All characters and various plot events that set up this story belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. I am borrowing them and making no money.
Acknowledgments: Thanks, Ruby, for your insights and your ideas and your insistence that words be fresh. And thanks, J, for being suspicious of the melodrama. I kept it anyway, but I thought twice.
Terra Firma
Chapter 7: Prodigal Daughters
And there were daughters older than the mothers who had borne them,
Being older in their wisdom, which is older than the earth;
And they were going forward only farther into darkness….
--Edwin Arlington Robinson, “Valley of the Shadow”
Something had happened. The very air was charged. If he held his head right, tilted his ear to the breeze, the air crackled. Perhaps the wind had changed, and his Mary Poppins had flown into town on her umbrella after all.
Because there was a new energy in Sunnydale, one that hadn’t been there yesterday. And certainly not before the spell.
Resurrections were tricky; everyone knew that. Even a powerful sorcerer had to face the fact that a resurrection would work…more or less. How many times, after all, had he given this caution to young widows and parents and sisters and….daughters?
He had done everything correctly, but he went through the evidence again. The sacrifice of the blood of witnesses to bring her forth. The chanting to conjure her essence. The doorway through which she would pass. The rope to bind her to this reality. And the gift of milk…a gift for a God.
Yes, the elements had all been there. It was just possible, of course, that the spell itself had been incomplete, but he had spent countless hours attempting to cross-reference the ingredients, perfecting the Latin of the chant.
A University education was such a gift. Doc smiled. And the transformation to half-demon had been value added. He had so much to be grateful for. A father who had brought him up with a classical training and paid for his studies. And an adopted mother who had taken him under her wing, compelled him with darkness, showed him the lap of a God.
But now, perhaps, the son would become the father. And the mother would become the daughter.
It would be a miracle.
It was so simple, really; he should have realized it much sooner. He’d been expecting Glory’s essence to return at the tower because he’d assumed that’s where she had left this reality. Not having her appear there…well, it only meant she had appeared somewhere else. Which meant she had left somewhere else.
He only had to sniff her out. And then he could set his plans in motion.
It would be delicious. But perhaps…a cup of cocoa first.
****
It was a miracle.
It had to be, Buffy thought, stirring milk into her coffee. A miracle. How else could she explain the fact that Tara had walked through the door the previous evening, picked the pieces of Willow up off the floor, and with a simple touch, put her family back together again?
A miracle. Or something else.
Buffy wanted nothing more than to hug Willow and tell her that everything was going to be just fine. To assure Dawn that all her sisters were here for good. To keep everyone safe. But under the thin skin of her relief, her Slayer-sense bubbled up and boiled over. Events—good or bad—always had causes. Often deliberate causes. And motivations.
And consequences.
This uneasy knowledge tugged at the edges of her contentment. They had to figure out who…or what…had brought Tara back, and why. They had to remove the threat. And then they could celebrate. Go on.
She looked up to see Tara pausing in the kitchen doorway. The familiar half-smile felt like a hug to Buffy. “Tara,” she said, getting up to get her a cup. “How….
“She’s okay,” Tara cut in. “She’s taking a shower, and then she’ll come down.”
Buffy smiled. The world had just turned upside-down—again—but some things didn’t change. “No. Tara, how are you?” She poured coffee and set the cup in front of Tara.
“Oh.” Tara smiled ruefully. “I’m fine, Buffy. I mean, I’m confused, and I can’t really get my mind around what’s happened…well, you know…but last night, being with Willow…it was so right, so….” She broke off, her cheeks flushing. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Buffy said, putting a hand on Tara’s arm. “Tara, it is so okay.” She bent her head to look into Tara’s eyes.
“Tara…” Buffy spoke into her cup. “Did Willow talk to you yet about…what happened?”
Tara gave her a sharp look. “No, not yet,” she said. “I mean, I had a feeling that there was something to tell, but… I thought it could wait until today. Last night…we didn’t really talk. Buffy, she just…she needed me.”
“Of course,” Buffy agreed quickly. “Waiting was totally the right thing to do.” She frowned at her coffee. “It’s just that….Willow, well, Dawn can tell you more, since she’s the one who spent most of the summer with her, but she hasn’t really been talking that much at all, and so….”
“Willow,” Tara said softly. Buffy glanced from Tara’s face, flushed pink again, to Willow, standing in the doorway and twisting Tara’s blue shirt in her hands. Her lips were pressed tightly together, her knuckles white. Buffy slid off her stool and crossed the room in a few strides.
“Willow,” she said gently. “Let me wash that for you.” She reached for the shirt. Willow looked down at the fabric, surprised, as if she hadn't realized she was holding it. She unclenched her fingers, and the fabric slid out of her grasp.
“Buffy, I….” Willow hesitated. “I have to talk to Tara.” She glanced at Tara again but didn’t move.
“I know, Will,” she said. “But it will be okay. I promise.” She hugged Willow, a brief, hard hug, feeling the rigid shoulders under her arms.
Willow nodded and held her hand out to Tara. “Will you…come outside?” Their fingers trembled when they touched, and Buffy’s chest ached. Willow had Tara back, and that was the best gift in the world, but the conversation they were about to have would not be easy. Maybe she could….
“Hey,” she said suddenly, and they turned back. She searched her mind for a strategy, a way to just tell Tara about Willow’s rage and get it over with. Or to tell Willow to wait, to delay this confession until later, when they knew more about Tara’s return, when things felt more secure. Or to take the blame herself, somehow, so that Tara wouldn’t have to know.
But no.
“Just…just come have some breakfast after you talk,” she said finally, lamely. Tara nodded. Willow’s smile did not reach her eyes.
Buffy sighed and went to pour herself another cup of coffee. Caffeine would help. She couldn’t carry this burden for Willow, no matter how much she ached to. And no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t take the pain of hearing it from Tara. She’d once thought she could protect her friends from their biggest demons, but this was a monster they had to face for themselves.
And it was necessary. She knew that. No, it wouldn’t be easy. But it would be right.
****
“They’ve been out there a long time,” Dawn complained. “ I want to see Tara. And I’m getting hungry.” She crossed her arms on the counter. “Can’t I at least have a piece of toast?”
“Have some more juice,” Buffy said flatly. She heard the front door open and voices in the hallway. “We’re not eating until they come back. This is our first meal together, Dawn. It’s important. Anyway, juice has calories. It’s like toast, only…it’s in a glass, and…it has less butter.”
“Great,” Dawn said, rolling her eyes. “Like you’d ever put butter on your toast anyway,” she added under her breath. She welcomed the distraction of Anya and Giles, who pushed into the kitchen with arms full of brown paper bags.
“So then,” Anya was saying, “I said, ‘Xander, what more do you want? They don’t make bags of chips any bigger than that.’ You should have seen his face.” Anya set down her bags on the counter with a flourish.
“Ah, how clever,” Giles said, smiling sideways at Buffy. “The vengeance demon at home. Kind of a busman’s holiday, isn’t it, Anya?”
Anya tilted her head at him for a moment. Then she turned to Dawn and Buffy and beamed. Giles looked around with raised eyebrows, but Buffy only gave him a blank look, and Dawn didn’t really get it either.
“Wait until you see what we got,” Anya said proudly. She began to remove items from the bags. “First, we found some of that tea she used to like, and this notebook with kittens on it.” She passed the notebook to Dawn.
Giles stepped forward and started rummaging. “Oh yes, look at this,” he said. “It’s a—what do you call them—a barrette…for her hair. I thought….”
“And this,” Anya interrupted excitedly. “This is the best one.” She presented Dawn with a small paperback book.
“ The Big Book of Insect Reflection Jokes and Other Hellmouth Hilarity.” Dawn read the title out loud. She wrinkled her nose.
“You know, in case she feels depressed or something, like when Buffy came back,” Anya said. “This could cheer her up. Cheer us all up. God knows we could use a little old-fashioned insect humor now that Tara is here to explain it to us.”
“So where are Snow White and Prince Charming, anyway,” Xander asked, coming through the door with two more bags. “And no, I’m not going to say who’s who. You’ll never get it out of me. So don’t even try.”
“Outside, and no one’s trying,” Buffy said drily. “Jeez, Xander, did you buy the whole store?” She unloaded eggs and bacon and bread and bagels and fruit and doughnuts onto the counter.
“We didn’t know what she’d want to eat, so we thought we’d get everything. I mean, who knows what kind of appetite you work up when you’ve just been kind of hanging out for three months, right? And we thought maybe we could tempt Willow-the-wisp with variety. Buff,” Xander’s voice dropped. “Did she eat a single thing yesterday?”
“Her herbal drink,” Dawn said, vaguely, over her shoulder, wandering to the window. But she forgot all about breakfast when she realized she had a clear view of Willow and Tara, standing close together near the bench in the back yard.
“They’re talking,” she announced from the kitchen window. “It looks like they’re talking.”
She glanced back to see four startled faces turned her way.
“Dawn,” Buffy said reprovingly. “Don’t spy on them. You shouldn’t be looking at them.” She set down the barrette she’d been turning over in her hands. “It’s not a nice thing to do. It’s very not nice. It’s wrong.” Buffy joined Dawn at the window. “You can see them?”
Dawn turned back to the window.
Willow was speaking, her hands wrapped around herself. And Tara was listening. As they watched, Willow’s head dropped, and Tara touched a finger to her chin and lifted her face back up. Willow spoke again.
Tara’s face changed. Her hand fell, and she stumbled backward across the grass. She turned and gripped the back of the bench, doubling over. Her shoulders heaved. Slowly, her hand tight on the bench, she pulled herself upright. She stood there for a long time, her back to Willow. It looked like she might be crying. Willow didn’t move.
The kitchen was absolutely silent. Dawn felt like she might throw up herself. The moment seemed to last forever.
But then Tara turned, slowly. Dawn could see, even at a distance, that her cheeks were wet. Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, she tilted her head at Willow, seemed to study her. And then, without pausing again, without another second of hesitation, Tara closed the distance between them, wrapped her arms tight around Willow, leaned into her.
From behind her, Dawn heard Xander’s whisper of relief and Anya’s contented sigh. “Okay, that’s enough,” Buffy said sternly, putting one hand on Dawn’s shoulder and the other on Xander’s. “Anya, come on.” She pulled them forcibly from the window. But she was smiling.
****
Willow’s hands slid to her shoulders and gently pushed back. “Tara,” she said quietly. “It’s okay if you need…time. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.” Tara heard her voice as if from far away.
Tara reached for her hand. The fingers looked the same as they always had, small and on the bony side. Tender. But these fingers had soaked up currents of black magick. They had crushed metal and split the air and bloodied friends. They had…killed. Tara had prepared herself for pain, for revenge even, but she honestly hadn’t been expecting that. Not cruelty.
The image of this Willow—so driven by fury, so vengeful, raging—she felt it as a wound, a gash. It stung to think of Willow so desperately alone that she would threaten Dawn. So lost that she would give herself over to a nightmare rather than face a day without…her.
But that wasn’t the worst part. Maybe it should have been, but it wasn’t.
It hurt more to think that Willow had lived inside the knowledge of what she had done for three months. Without hope.
At least she’d had something to hope for the first time Tara had left her. The hope of a reunion. And she’d never really doubted it, had she? Even after Dawn’s arm, Tara knew that it was her own absence that really fueled Willow’s resolve.
She had tried to explain it to Dawn.
“I forgave her,” Dawn had said one afternoon while she and Tara were shopping for new gym shoes. “I finally did. But if you do, then why won’t you come back? It’s been like a month. Isn’t that enough time?”
Tara handed her a pair with purple laces. “It’s just…she has to know she can do it,” she said finally, reluctantly. “If I come back now, after only a month, w...what happens the next time something goes wrong? The next time she’s tempted to use dark magick? She has to be sure.”
Dawn glared at her. “You mean you have to be sure,” she said angrily. “This isn’t about Willow. It’s about you . You say you love her, but you don’t come home.” Her shoulders sagged as her anger drained away suddenly, and her lower lip trembled. “You never come home.”
Tara tucked Dawn’s hair behind her ear. “Dawn, I do love her. I love her more than anything. And that’s why I have to stay away for a little while longer. If I stand beside her right now, she’ll never learn to stand on her own. Without me. Without the magick. And she h... has to. She just has to.”
Tara heard the note of desperation in her own voice. She knew Dawn heard it, too, because Dawn looked at her hard, and then without saying another word, she bent to pull on the next pair of shoes.
The conversation flashed through Tara’s mind, and she thought briefly how surreal it all was. She had come back from the dead, her lover had just told her she’d drained a powerful sorcerer and killed a human, and all she could think about was buying Dawn shoes. With purple laces.
She just has to. The words echoed.
Well, she’d had to, all right. Look what had happened. Yes, she’d killed out of revenge and rage, and that was…God, it was unimaginable. But after that, with Tara dead, on the edge of her own despair, Willow had—somehow—stepped back from the cliff. She had put one foot in front of the other and walked herself through three months of empty, endless days. She had done that. And that was something, wasn’t it?
The time for object lessons was long over.
Now it was time for something else.
“Willow,” she said finally. “I’m not saying it’s all going to be fine. I don’t know.” Willow’s grip loosened instantly, and Tara clutched at her hands to keep her there, to keep her close.
“Tara, I.…” Willow said, crumpling.
“Willow, don’t,” Tara said. “Just don’t.” She looked into the wretched green canyons of Willow’s eyes. “There’s nothing you can say now, nothing, that’s going to make me leave.” She watched the hollow in Willow’s throat deepen, but Willow did not speak.
Tara gripped Willow’s fingers and pulled their clasped hands to her own chest, pressing Willow’s fingers to the bone between her breasts. She felt the blood pulsing, the heart contracting and releasing under her skin.
“You feel that?” Tara asked hoarsely. Willow swallowed hard. “Well, that belongs to you. And I’m not going to take it away from you. Never again. No matter how hard it is. No matter what.” Willow swayed back, made a little sound.
Tara moved their joined fingers to the scooped neck of Willow’s shirt. She slipped her thumb under the fabric until she could feel the pulse of Willow’s heart. “And this…?” Willow nodded mutely. Tara swallowed over the tight ache in her throat. “This belongs to me. And I’m going to take care of it now.”
Willow lifted her eyes then, and Tara was flooded with green. Still holding Willow’s fingers tight, she slipped her other hand around the back of her neck, pulled her close. She pressed her lips to red hair, to pale forehead, to eyelids and ears.
“Willow, baby,” she whispered. “I’m going to take care of what’s mine.” She held Willow tight, and when she finally felt the thankful arm wrap around her back, felt the heat of the palm through her shirt and the breath on her neck, her tears came again.
She had heard everything. Willow had just showed her the darkest side of herself, the shadow Willow that she had always tried so hard not to see. And that Willow lived in a dark place, darker than she had known.
But Tara was no stranger to dark places. And now, with the darkest corners exposed to light, with the hardest confessions out in the open, with no secrets left to tell, they would find a way out. A way home.
****
“They’re crying again,” Dawn said slowly, from the window. “That’s good, right? Crying is good? Or is crying bad?”
Buffy came to the window and looked out. Maybe, after all, she thought, they didn’t have to wait to celebrate. Maybe there was a simple explanation for Tara’s return, A simple as the sight of two women clinging to each other in the middle of the backyard, lost in a private and long overdue reunion. As simple as need meeting need. As simple as forgiveness.
Buffy put her arm around Dawn’s shoulders and pulled her close. “It’s good,” she said softly, hugging Dawn to her. “This kind of crying is very, very good.”
And, after all, they did eat together, although it was more lunch than breakfast. Willow and Tara sat close, their shoulders touching. Willow obediently drained the glass of orange murk that Buffy set in front of her, but she mostly watched Tara eat, reaching to refill her coffee cup or to slide another piece of toast onto her plate. The others ate ravenously, scarfing down eggs and bagels like it was their last meal. Or their first.
Buffy waited until Dawn had popped the last bite of bacon into her mouth before she rested her forearms on the table and caught Giles’ eye. He nodded and dabbed at his lips with a napkin.
“Tara,” he started to say, but Anya stood suddenly, scraping her chair back and glancing at the screen on a tiny black box she pulled from her skirt pocket.
Anya glanced around, saw the curious looks. She shrugged, holding up the black box. “It pulses. Like Xander used to.” Dawn made a face while Xander sunk down in his chair.
She turned to Tara. “I’m really sorry,” she said. “But duty calls. I’ll be back later.” And she was gone.
Tara glanced around the table, bewildered. “What just happened?” she asked.
Xander shrugged. “Anyanka just happened,” he said. “Big Daddy D’Hoffryn calls, and she goes running. She’s a good girl.” Tara heard bitterness in his voice. She shook her head.
“I guess I missed a lot,” she said slowly.
Willow squeezed her hand. “Oh yeah,” she said. “I guess with…everything…I forgot to mention that….”
Tara’s forehead wrinkled. “Vengeance demons have beepers now?” she asked. Xander just rolled his eyes, but Buffy and Dawn giggled.
Giles cleared his throat. “Tara,” he said. “Before we talk about your, well, your resurrection, have you thought about calling your father? I…I’m not sure what you’d tell him, but perhaps your family should know that you’re alive.”
Tara looked around the table. She reached out and ruffled Dawn’s hair, and then she pulled Willow to her and kissed the top of her head. To Buffy, it looked like a protective kiss, shielding and possessive and infinitely tender.
“Mr. Giles,” Tara said softly. “They already do.”
To be continued in Chapter 8, “Resurrections.”
Edited by: Tulipp at: 10/12/02 12:29:42 pm
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at: 7/18/02 2:45:46 pm